


What if...

by memymo



Series: The Echizens [4]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, I am so sorry for everything, i don't know why i did this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 07:02:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1419100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memymo/pseuds/memymo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karupid had always liked the sun. Ryoma was not sure if it made him feel better or worse. He tried not to think about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What if...

It was a beautiful day, surprisingly, considering how hard it had been raining all week, the monotone grey gave way for endless baby blue and soft sun ray.

Karupid had always liked the sun. Ryoma was not sure if it made him feel better or worse. He tried not to think about it.

No one knew about this place behind the temple; it was just his and Karupin’s, their own little small kingdom, a far cry from the boundless land they used to have back in California, but it had to do. Besides, he didn’t have as much time as he did when they were back in California, what with the Nationals and stupid school hours. But whenever he could, he and Karupin always ended up out here, lounging in the shade and bathed in the fresh aroma of trees and flowers.

It was just him now. Karupin was but a shadow.

Tonight, when he go to bed, there would be no little white ball of fur following him, meowing pathetically until he gave up (like always) and let him sleep on the bed instead of the little cosy cot in the corner.

Tomorrow morning, when he wake up, there would be no soft purrs greeting him, or little tongue lapping his face.

And when he come home, there would be no one jumped at him and just sit contently on his lap, not letting him get up to put his stuffs away, the little toy ready.

Ryoma didn’t quite know how to feel. Or what he should do. His hand suddenly felt empty without the red racket, the sun burning his eyes. It almost felt like crying, but there was nothing. Just a little mound of dirt.

He shouldn’t have left without his cap.

Perhaps, there was nothing else to do.

And that night, when he slept, he dreamed of green park and big blue eyes, and forgotten treasures buried somewhere in sunburned land.


End file.
